ICN: I see Dom as a black sheep as she gets older: piercings, tattoos, swearing in class, partying, flirting with everyone, dyed and chopped off hair, always sneaking out, the whole deal. The kid her Dad wished he could've been if he'd cut loose a bit more. Also I definitely see her as bi.

HAIR: strawberry blonde.

EYES: blue.

WAND: cedar, dragon heartstring, nine and three quarter inches.

Dominique Weasley tossed her reddish gold hair impatiently as the latest first-year on the stool, a quaking, muttering boy by the name of Thomas Edgecombe, passed the three-minute mark under the Sorting Hat. She had heard a girl not far behind her whispering that if he got to five minutes he would be the first Hatstall in twelve years. Dom grimaced, thinking how nerve-wracking it would be to have the Hat so uncertain about deciding your fate. She had long since decided that she would simply tell the Hat to put her in Gryffindor as soon as it was placed on her head. Surely that was where she belonged anyway.

Glancing across at the red and gold table, Dom caught James' gaze and jerked her head towards the Edgecombe boy, rolling her eyes. James nodded, plainly getting twitchy with boredom as he was slowly skewering the table with a fork. Using the fork as a prop, he mimed holding a wand to his own throat and flailing backwards from a curse, his exaggerated movements drawing a scathing look from their cousin Molly a few seats down. Dom tried and failed to stop a smile spreading across her flawless features at the thought of Molly's dismay when both herself and Fred were sorted into Gryffindor too. Anything that annoyed their pompous, wannabe Ravenclaw cousin was OK with her.

Turning, she nudged Fred, distracting him from sneaking every-flavour beans from his pocket into his mouth.

"Molly looks about as happy as if she's just drank bubotuber pus. Reminds me of that time we tricked her into eating a whole handful of your Dad's Sourpuss Sherbet. Remember?"

Fred's mobile face split into a wide grin. Despite his brown skin, eyes and curls, he was the spitting image of his father when conducting or reminiscing about mischief. He opened his mouth to reply but at that moment, the Sorting Hat reached a decision and proclaimed the visibly relieved Edgecombe boy a Ravenclaw. Dom shuffled forward as the next person was called up.

She could feel eyes on her and, sighing impatiently, she turned and raised her eyebrows at her sister, who was craning her swan-like neck to watch her anxiously from the Hufflepuff table. Vic had been even worse than usual over the holidays, insisting on dragging Dom to Diagon Alley at least three times and spending half the money from her summer job on an expensive kit of potions instruments and a pretty set of dress robes for her little sister. Dom didn't intend to wear the dress robes and had no particular interest in Potions, but had learned that it was best to just let Vic do her mothering without protest; she usually got free sweets and Quidditch magazines out of it. Not that Vic had to pay for half the things she picked up in shops if the store assistant was male.

She smirked as her eyes fell on the empty seat next to Victoire, where she knew Teddy usually sat each year. Vic kept looking at it slightly mournfully; Dom knew that she hadn't been looking forward to starting her first Teddy-free year at Hogwarts. He wouldn't even be in the country soon because he was taking a 'gap year', a muggle idea. He was going to visit Uncle Charlie in his adopted home of Romania and then go travelling around Europe with his godparents' friend Luna for a while, helping her in her work as a naturalist assisting her husband Rolf. Dom figured he'd end up babysitting more than anything; Luna and Rolf had twin four-year-olds. The previous week, at the annual Burrow get-together, he had stuttered and muttered his way through Dom's and Fred's teasing about Vic having a crush on him, which was made up on the spot but probably true anyway. It was amusing, but pathetic, Dom decided. She would never get as worked up about boys as Teddy Lupin clearly was about her sister.

She was wrenched from her musings by her name being called. Shooting a scornful look at Vic, who looked like she was about to burst with pride and tension, Dom strolled confidently up to the stool and waited expectantly for the Sorting Hat to be placed upon her head. She didn't even flinch as the knowing voice sounded inside her mind.

"Well, well, we certainly have a textbook Weasley here, don't we?"

Dom smiled grimly.

"Red hair, freckles, wicked sense of humour, buckets of courage… all this, yet I'm not sure if I want to put you in Gryffindor."

The smile dropped.

"It's not that you don't have a lot of Gryffindor traits," continued the Hat. "It's purely that you would make an excellent Slytherin."

"No!" she hissed, clenching her fists in her lap.

"Why not? You're cunning, conniving, you like to get your own way and you have strong ideas."

Dom felt like she might cry. This was exactly what she had subconsciously feared. This was exactly what she was determined to stop from happening. She belonged in Gryffindor, curse it!

"Gryffindor," she whispered desperately. "Please."

The Hat hummed in consideration. Finally, after what must have been thirty seconds of Dom silently begging and the Hat telling her to shush and let it think, it reached a decision.

"I do think you belong in Slytherin. But if you want to be in Gryffindor badly enough… well, you're certainly the kind of person who can make it work out in your favour. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Dom breathed, trembling slightly on the stool. There was a small pause before she let out a gasp of relief as the Hat shouted:

"GRYFFINDOR!"